That's it. I crashed. Then my box: it crashed. This was right after Uncle Albert and I got back from Paradise. One, then the other.
Dr. Feight actually made a house call, "Not by any means the first," he told Roz, "and likely not the last." He asked me how I felt. I said I didn't know really. He asked when I thought I might be able to get out of bed. "Next time I have to go to the bathroom," I said.
"You'll eat something tomorrow," he said. This wasn't a question. "You'll get up at eight. You'll go downstairs. You'll eat a slice of toast with jam. You'll drink a cup of coffee. Albert is going to be here."
"Okay," I said.
"Okay," he said. "You can have another cup of coffee at two in the afternoon, if you eat lunch."
"What's for lunch?"
He didn't know what was for lunch, but he said he'd find out, and Roz would tell me after he left. He must have, because not long after the front door closed behind him, she stuck her head in and said, "Egg salad sandwiches."
The box was another story. It had to be taken in. And it couldn't be fixed: it was dead. But some of its organs could be extracted and put into another box. Only they weren't sure how many until they got another box and tried.
"They're hopeful though," Roz said.
I'm not though.
03.21.17
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